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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023875">Veracity is the Spice of Life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonygirl76/pseuds/moonygirl76'>moonygirl76</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Derek Hale, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Floof, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magic, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Werewolf Mates, basically fighting and then reconciliation, ooor is it?, pack roles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:00:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023875</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonygirl76/pseuds/moonygirl76</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is angling for a way to be stronger and more useful to the pack after being benched following some whump. Derek is just trying to keep Stiles from doing something stupid. Easier said than done. Magical Rune tattoos and dodgy science and possible accidental mpreg. Let's go!</p><p>Derek, come get your man.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>386</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Veracity is the Spice of Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A wee idea that grew. Don't dwell on the lack of medical accuracy please. It's mpreg, so can you cut this girl some slack?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Veracity is the Spice of Life</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not taking the bite,” Stiles says. </p><p>Derek looks up from where he’s taking his last forkful of mostaccioli. His favorite. Maybe Stiles is trying to butter him up. Okay, Stiles is definitely trying to butter him up. Derek narrows his eyes. Maybe Derek is on to the fact that Stiles is trying to butter him up. </p><p>“I never asked you to take the bite,” Derek says, setting his fork down. </p><p>Stiles rubs his hands on his jeans, something he does when he’s nervous. Derek knows that this is what he does when he’s nervous. And Stiles knows that Derek knows. He stops.</p><p>“No,” Stiles says, “But you did say that next time there’s a confrontation with supernatural creatures of any kind that you would leave me home.”</p><p>“Because you almost died last time,” Derek says. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“You lost two pints of blood, nearly lost your left foot, and you were in so much agony that you couldn’t speak for twenty minutes while three werewolves siphoned your pain.”</p><p>“Yes. That’s true. Not something I will easily forget,” Stiles says. </p><p>“So, you see my dilemma. And the dilemma of your father who--”</p><p>“Screamed at you and threatened your life if I got hurt again. I know.”</p><p>“Not my life, Stiles. My balls. He specifically and graphically threatened my balls if you ever needed more than three stitches anywhere on your body,” Derek says. </p><p>Stiles winces in sympathy of his mate’s balls. </p><p>“Yes. I assure you I’ve given this a lot of thought.”</p><p>Derek sighs. “You just want me to know that you don’t want the bite?”</p><p>“Correct.”</p><p>Stiles starts rubbing his hands on his jeans again, then stops when Derek’s eyes follow the motion. Derek calmly takes that last bit of mostaccioli and sets his fork down one more time. </p><p>“What is this really about, Stiles?” Derek asks. </p><p>“I met this mage online,” Stiles says. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You haven’t even heard my idea,” Stiles says. </p><p>“I’m not going to like it. I already don’t like it,” Derek says. </p><p>“You might like it?”</p><p>Derek. Takes a drink of his water, then leans back in his chair. “You met a mage online.”</p><p>“Yes. And we started chatting about Runes. Specifically, Rune tattoos.”</p><p>Derek crosses his arms. “Continue.”</p><p>“Well. As you know, I have my spark. Magical spark. So, in theory, in addition to the party tricks I can perform with mountain ash, I should be able to benefit from certain magic made for magic people. My body will synergize.”</p><p>“Synergize?” Derek cocks an eyebrow.</p><p>“Assimilate.”</p><p>“Assimilate?” Derek tips his head to the side.</p><p>Stiles waves his hands around in the air as if to illustrate. “My body will create symbiotic relationship with the magic.”</p><p>“Are you making this up as you go, or did your new buddy online tell you that?” Derek asks, simply. But there is a tone. Stiles definitely detects a tone. </p><p>“Derek, this is not complicated science. Even Deaton has Rune tattoos,” Stiles says.</p><p>“Even Deaton? Why aren’t you talking to Deaton about this then?” Derek asks. Definitely a tone.</p><p>“I have.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>Stiles clenches his fists on his thighs to avoid rubbing. “He agreed that Runes are powerful magic, and confirmed that I should have enough magic in me to activate a Rune tattoo.”</p><p>“You’re rubbing again.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re rubbing your hands on your legs.” Stiles stops rubbing his hands on his legs and squeezes them into fists again. “What aren’t you telling me that I will find out from Deaton if you don’t tell me?” Derek asks. </p><p>Stiles gets up from the table and gathers up his plate, and Derek’s, and brings them to the sink. He rinses them with water before turning back to face Derek, still sitting at the table. </p><p>“Just talk to me, Stiles. Not as the Alpha. As your mate. Talk to me,” Derek says<br/>
.<br/>
Stiles blows out a breath and leans back against the counter. “Rune tattoos are powerful, depending on the level of magic of the artist and the receiver and the Rune itself, they can be dangerous. They could, at least, expose you to someone else’s magic, which has side effects and, at most, literally deconstruct and reconstruct your body’s chemistry."</p><p>“What does that mean? Are you going to Hulk out?” Derek asks.</p><p>Stiles blinks. “I am extremely turned on that you made a comic book slash super hero reference, and also you are correct. To a certain extent. Except not physically. With a Protection Rune, which is the one I have my eye on, I could become rather Hulk-like in strength, but it’s more internal. Like how my muscles work. I guess it effects the very fabric of my internal material. On cellular molecular level. So instead of Hulk-like, more like--”</p><p>“Spider-man?”</p><p>“Take me to bed. This entire conversation is turning me on.”</p><p>Derek waves his hand. “In a minute. Does Deaton not feel that your body will be . . . symbiotic with the change?”</p><p>“It’s not that. My spark should be able to work with that kind of magic. The problem lies with the ability and experience of the tattoo artist. If it was a matter of drawing lines, anyone could do it. Deaton could do it. But even the slightest deviation can change the, I guess, blue print, of the magic. It’s also very temperamental to placement. Get that wrong, and I could end up with super human toe nails instead of general strength. Or some kind of crazy side effects of my body rejecting the magic all together.”</p><p>“Is that why Deaton won’t do it?” Derek asks. </p><p>“Correct. He doesn’t feel he has the experience, and he isn’t willing to risk it,” Stiles says. </p><p>“So, the danger level, is your body getting completely messed up on a molecular level or--”</p><p>“Death.”</p><p>“Right. So, your cells and my balls are still on the line. Do you hate research that much, or do you hate my balls?” Derek asks. </p><p>“Your balls are lovely, Derek, really, and research is great. I feel like I could do more for the pack. I always want to do more,” Stiles says.</p><p>Derek sighs, before standing up and walking over to Stiles. He places his hands on Stiles’s hips, and Stiles responds immediately, running his hands up Derek’s arms to his biceps. </p><p>“You don’t have to alter who you are, or kill yourself, in order to prove your loyalty to this pack. You already do more than anyone else,” Derek says.</p><p>He presses against Stiles. Hip to hip. “If something were to happen to you-- ”</p><p>“Derek, I’m not stupid. Okay? I’m just being honest about worst-case scenario. Most likely it will either be like a good luck charm, or simply won’t work at all. I just think that if I have this spark, I should use it to my advantage.”</p><p>Derek nods. “I get it. At the end of the day, it’s your body. But I appreciate being able to talk with you about it. Check out the artist like your life depends on it. Because it might. Then please talk to me again before going ahead with it?”</p><p>Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck bringing their chest flush. “Trust me.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“Good. Now take me to bed.”</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, Stiles gets a call from Scott as he’s rushing around to leave the house. His left foot is bothering him, as it does sometimes. While mostly healed, it’s still weaker than the right and gets stiff when stagnant too long. </p><p> “You working at the coffee shop this morning?” Scott asks. Stiles has been picking up shifts at Danny Mahealani’s coffee shop on the weekends this summer, just to help him out after two of his staff quit when they went back to home for summer break from college. He heads toward the loft door. </p><p>“Yes. I’m leaving five minutes ago,” Stiles says. Shoes. Shoes. He had shoes.</p><p> “Can you drop me at the clinic on your way?” Scott asks. “Allison was called in for an early shift today.”</p><p>“What’s wrong with your motorbike? It could not possibly have broken down again already,” Stiles says, spotting his shoes next to the couch. He slips them on and heads back toward the door.</p><p>“No. You know. Still in the garage from that run-in with the Omegas last week,” Scott says. </p><p>Stiles stills were he’s grabbing his keys of the hook next to the door. Run-in with Omegas?  “Oh yeah? But that’s been . . . how many days, Scott?”</p><p>“I guess it’s already been a week, but Ronnie at the shop said he’s been behind with a mechanic out sick.”</p><p>Last Saturday. He worked until seven, but Derek had picked him up for dinner and hadn’t said anything about Omegas in their territory or any kind of confrontation. He does remember Derek checking his phone a lot but had chalked that up to Betas being needy. One time, Erika had kept Derek in a text conversation for over an hour to discuss some fight she and Boyd had had regarding choice of laundry detergent. Derek was loyal, but miserable. It was hilarious. </p><p>This was not hilarious. And actually, Derek had been on his phone a lot this week. What else was going on?</p><p>“Everyone still okay?” Stiles asks. </p><p>“Yeah. You know. Allison likes getting new scars,” Scott says, with a fondness.</p><p>“I don’t actually. Derek didn’t tell me.”</p><p>“That Allison had stitches?” Scott asks. </p><p>“No. He didn’t tell me about the Omegas.”</p><p>There’s silence on the other end of the line. “Oh, man. Well. He said not to call you because you were at work. I didn’t know he wasn’t going to tell you at all. That sucks. I’m sorry.”</p><p>He did sound sorry. “No big deal, just my boyfriend not trusting me, and not being trustworthy. Not like veracity is a foundation for a healthy relationship or anything,” Stiles says.<br/>
Silence again. But this time he didn’t know if it was because Scott felt uncomfortable or because he was trying to remember what ‘veracity’ meant from his SAT prep senior year. </p><p>Work is slow, they’re overstaffed for such a quiet day, so Stiles has a lot of time to think. A text comes in from Derek asking him when he gets off work today. He tells him six, but then asks Danny if he can leave at noon. He lets him. </p><p>The artist’s name is Joseph, and he lives two towns over. He had a long list of clients, most of which he was willing to provide contact info for references. It was reasonable that there would be some clients who would want to keep their runes a secret, for whatever reason, so that was something he would have to accept. Unfortunately, Stiles hadn’t had time to email any of them yet. He had, however, had time last night, thanks to his dad’s less than stellar password protection, to check for a criminal record. He had found none. So at least there was that.</p><p>Stiles had also wanted to go to the next level by interviewing Joseph in person, and get a feel for him, though he had planned to do that with Derek. However, Stiles was now feeling petty. And not so much like he wanted to be completely forthright if Derek was not going to afford him the same courtesy. The betrayal felt like a stone in his stomach. This was exactly why he wanted to get the Rune in the first place. Stiles was tired of being left out. Underestimated. Protected to a point that felt demeaning. </p><p>Joseph enthusiastically invites him over when Stiles texts him. And although he is surprised, it doesn’t seem to make him any less welcoming. Joseph looks younger than Stiles expected, appearing much closer to twenty than forty, but maybe magic has something to do with it. Or healthy living. Joseph seems very natural, and fit. Not that Stiles is noticing. Joseph greets him with a smile, ushering Stiles in and showing him around his home studio and shop. He’s a painter as well as a tattoo artist and Stiles takes his time admiring all the bright oiled portraits of people and supernatural creatures that adorn the walls. </p><p>“What can I do for you, Stiles?” Joseph asks. </p><p>Stiles turns away from one of the paintings. “As I mentioned in my messages, I’m just getting my feet wet with the whole Rune thing. I’m still only starting to train and develop my spark with Dr. Deaton, I’m concerned with the danger that might be involved,” Stiles says.</p><p>“As you should be. Magic is always unpredictable. Like the weather. Like nature herself. But I like to think of Rune work as both an art and a science. I’ve got a great book, let me show you some things about the fundamentals, I think you’ll find it eases your mind.”</p><p>They spend an hour with the book and discussing the science and art behind Rune tattoos. Stiles feels his phone vibrate several times during the visit but, figures it can wait. As the pack has already proven, he wouldn’t be informed of any conflict or danger anyway. Most likely he’s just caught up in some group chat from hell. </p><p>“Any other questions, Stiles?”</p><p>“No, you’ve been more than generous with your time and knowledge,” Stiles says.</p><p>Joseph picks up the large tome off the desk where they’ve been working. “Why don’t you borrow this? You can talk to your Alpha and show him the pictures and chat about the concepts we went over.”</p><p>Stiles doesn’t take the book. “I don’t think that’s necessary? Is there any way you can do it today? Now?” It’s impulsive. But Stiles has a feeling about this. It feels right. He can trust Joseph. And he doesn’t need to consult Derek on every little part of his life. Derek certainly doesn’t consult him. The stone is back in his stomach with that last thought, but he lifts his chin and puts on a brave face for Joseph who is looking at him closely for any sign of uncertainty.</p><p>Joseph shrugs, clapping his hands together. “Alright. Let’s go back and I’ll get set up.”</p><p>Stiles follows him back and Joseph shuts the door to the small room behind them. Stiles stands stiffly and waits while Joseph sets up his supplies on the sterile tray. His ink, his ink gun, towels, and his sketch of the Protection Rune. “As we talked about, Stiles, I think the Protection Rune with best serve you if it’s on your trunk. Chest, or back or stomach.”</p><p>“How about on my lower back, but low and off to the side? By my hip?” he asks with his left hand over the space he was thinking.</p><p>Joseph nods. “It doesn’t need to be too big. In this case size does not matter.”</p><p>Stiles laughs awkwardly. He’s getting nervous. He hates needles. When he envisioned this, it was with Derek here. Holding his hand and reassuring him. Not to mention taking the pain. He takes a deep breath.</p><p>“When you are ready, Stiles, can you take off your shirt and lay face down on the table? Good. Cinch your pants down just a couple of inches.” Stiles pops the button on his jeans does what he says while listening to Joseph move around behind him. “Yes. That’s perfect. I’m gonna tuck this drape in to catch any ink, so you’re going to feel my hands on your lower back.” He feels him do what he says, not doing more or less or taking any liberties. </p><p>Stiles has his eyes closed, trying to relax himself when he hears Joseph snap on his gloves. He jerks. “You okay, Stiles?”</p><p>Stiles nods. “Just a little nerves.”</p><p>“How about some music?”</p><p>Stiles loses time, concentrating on the music and trying to block out the pain and that horrible buzzing of the tattoo gun, when he is jolted back to present time when he hears Derek’s Camaro gunning it up the driveway. Stiles starts to move, instinctively, and Joseph stills him with a firm hand to his lower back. </p><p>“Hold up it’s almost done.”</p><p>He waits a few more seconds but when he hears the slam of the Camaro door, he warns Joseph that he has to get up. Derek is always much more gentle with his beloved car. Things might be about to get ugly.</p><p>Stiles barely has his legs swung onto the floor, despite Joseph’s protests, when the banging starts on the front door. And by banging, the wood begins to splinter under the force of the knock. Stiles hobbles as best he can, his left foot giving him grief.</p><p>Stiles gets the front door open and stands nose to nose with the Beta-shifted form of Derek, who takes him all in with his red eyes and crowds him in until Stiles starts to back up.<br/>
“What the fuck, Derek?” Stiles says.</p><p>Derek growls, succinctly. </p><p>“Holy shit,” Joseph says, behind him. His eyes are huge, and he looks like he might piss his pants at the sight of the angry Alpha in his home. </p><p>Derek turns his red eyes full on Joseph, tilting his head in a way that is purely animal assessing his prey. And Joseph is gone. Out the back. Out of town. Off to find a new life, maybe. </p><p>Derek turns his attention back to Stiles. “You left your meds at home,” Derek says, slapping the bottle against Stiles’s bare chest, until Stiles can get a hand up to grab them. “You called off work. No one knew where you were. I had to track you on your phone.”</p><p>Stiles squares off, anger building in him again. “Well, Derek. We don’t need to be completely forthright about everything in this relationship, do we?”</p><p>Derek blinks at Stiles, his mouth open in shock. He retreats a couple of steps, as if physically wounded and Stiles watches as his red eyes change back to their natural warm green. Stiles is expecting the fight. Ready for it. This is when Derek will ask to know what that means, and Stiles can cop to the tattoo, but demand to know why Derek lied about the perimeter conflict last week. He’s ready. </p><p>But Derek doesn’t demand. He doesn’t ask. He just nods. Accepting. . .  Accepting WHAT?</p><p>“You could have, at least, had the decency to button your pants before answering the door,” Derek says. He turns and is gone, leaving Stiles blinking dumbly, at a loss for words. This time not from pain. Well. Not physical pain. </p><p> </p><p>When Stiles arrives at the loft, where he lives with Derek since just after high school graduation, he finds it empty. No pack, arguing over pizza toppings, and no Derek. Red-eyed or green.<br/>
His whole body feels heavy. Fatigue has set in like a concrete floor in his bones. His stomach hurts. Stiles finds a clean glass in the rinse rack next to the sink in the kitchen and drinks two full glasses of cold water before setting it in the sink. </p><p>He pulls himself up the stairs with much effort. He checks his phone for new messages (there are none) before plugging it to the charger on his side of the bed.<br/>
He limps slowly to the bathroom and brushes his teeth. The tattoo, in the bathroom mirror, looks unfinished to Stiles. He’d have to, at some point, get poor Joseph to finish what he started. If he was willing. If he wasn’t completely traumatized. </p><p>Stiles remembers that hasn’t eaten all day, which must be part of why his stomach feels so uneasy. The other part, no doubt, due to his body’s uneasy reaction to the absence of Derek.<br/>
While Stiles can admit that it might have looked bad to Derek. The lying, the being-half-naked and--no that was probably the worst of it. Stiles’s face heats at the thought of Derek having to point out that his jeans weren’t all the way done up. But Derek could have just asked. It’s not like he wouldn’t be able to tell if Stiles was lying. He could’ve asked. He could have fought for him. But instead it was just like Derek felt this outcome was inevitable. That eventually his relationship would lead to betrayal and destruction.<br/>
Stiles had thought they were past the worst of the self-deprecation and self-sabotage that Derek had developed because of his frankly dismal to disastrous dating history. But apparently not.<br/>
While things certainly felt awful now, Stiles is sure that he and Derek will work this out. They will both apologize and once the Rune was complete Derek wouldn’t even have a reason to keep Stiles out of pack business. Fine and dandy.</p><p>Stiles lay on their big bed alone. Listening to the sounds of the cavernous, empty loft. He checks his phone one more time. No messages. He types out a message to Derek. “We need to talk. I’m sorry.” He thinks about adding something about it not being what it looks like but, if Derek even thought Stiles was capable of such a thing, then their relationship was in more trouble than he originally thought. Plus, he’d really rather hash it all out in person.</p><p>The problem was, Derek was one to sulk. He was one to brood. He was one to hold on to his pain like a precious stone. Like a security blanket. Like an anchor. </p><p>That’s fine. Derek can sulk.   </p><p>Stiles sighs. They just need to talk. </p><p>The three bubbles appeared in the text screen and Stiles tried not to get his hopes up. He rubs his belly again as a sharp pain works its way through. </p><p>“Okay,” Derek writes. </p><p>And that’s it. For now. </p><p>Stiles contemplates texting more. But he doesn’t. He then contemplates going downstairs for a sandwich. He doesn’t. He’s not hungry. He even contemplates Episode Five of the Tiger King, even though he and Derek have been working their way through that shit-show together. But he is just so damn tired. </p><p> </p><p>Stiles wakes the next morning to banging on the door. He gets to his feet and lurches toward the bedroom door, to make his way downstairs, when the world suddenly goes sideways. Stiles clamps both hands to the doorframe until the vertigo passes. Sweat wets his hairline. When he feels confidant he’s not going to pass out, and the grey is receding from his periphery, he makes his way slowly downstairs. His left foot aches with the effort. </p><p>His dad is on the other side of the door, in uniform and looking concerned. Which, to be fair, is how he looks 90% of the time. </p><p>“You alright there, Son?” he asks, taking Stiles in. </p><p>“Yeah, Pops. Just got up.”</p><p>“It’s noon, you know. I don’t think you’ve slept this late since high school.”</p><p>Stiles blinks at him. He’d gone to bed early. Really early. Didn’t-even-have-dinner early. Something is wrong. And he didn’t think it was just emotional fallout from his and Derek’s fight. He looks back up at his dad. “You heard about the fight?” he asks.</p><p>His dad sighs as he steps past Stiles into the loft. “Derek asked me to check on you.”</p><p>“Nice of him. Though, if he was so worried, he could’ve just come to check himself. He does live here, afterall.”</p><p>“Right. Well. Seems he’s just--”</p><p>“Sulking. I know.”</p><p>His dad nods. “Your mom used to do that. Though we just called it ‘cooling off’.”</p><p>Stiles walks into the kitchen to start some coffee, as he usually did when his dad came over. He gets as far as pouring the water into the machine when the grey starts to invade his sightline again. Strong arms come around his waist. “Sit down,” his dad’s voice commands as Stiles feels himself eased all the way down to the kitchen floor, his knees buckling involuntarily. </p><p>Stiles holds his head in his hands until, again, the dizziness has passed. He feels something cool against his arm and looks up to see his dad nudging him with a glass of orange juice. Stiles drinks it down obediently. </p><p>“You sure you’re okay?” his dad asks, gripping his shoulder.</p><p>“Yeah, I just haven’t eaten in a while.”</p><p>“Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll make you some eggs?” his Dad tells him more than asks. </p><p>“No. Not eggs,” Stiles protests as his stomach clamps down at the thought. </p><p>“Toast?” his dad asked. </p><p>Stiles nods in agreement before accepting a hand up and walking carefully over to the couch. </p><p>Stiles eats all his toast like a good boy then goes up to shower. His dad insists on waiting and giving him a ride, not satisfied with Stiles’s insistence that he is feeling better after eating. </p><p> </p><p>Work drags on. He has to sit down three times because he’s light-headed and finally Danny tells him to leave. “Don’t call Scott,” Stiles tells him. Not that it will do much good. </p><p>“I would never,” Danny says. Yeah, right. </p><p>Stiles gets outside and realizes that his Jeep isn’t here because his Dad dropped him off. He reaches into his back pocket for his phone, but then sees the Camaro pull up to the curb. Danny is a dead man. </p><p>Sighing dramatically, he waits for Derek to throw the beast of a car into park and come around to stand in front of Stiles on the sidewalk. Oh, now he wants to talk. Stiles ignores him pointedly until Derek is in touching distance with that sad, pathetic look he gets when Stiles is hurt, and won’t let Derek check him. Derek lets out a short, soft whine and Stiles can’t stand it anymore and lifts his arms in defeated invitation. Derek buries his nose in the crook of Stiles’s neck and pulls Stiles against him in a two-armed hug. </p><p>Stiles rubs his lips along Derek’s neck, he never pretended to play fair, and delights in the purr he receives. Then he stills.</p><p>“Are you sniffing me?” Stiles asks. </p><p>“Of course, I’m sniffing you,” Derek says.</p><p>Stiles pushes on Derek’s shoulders until he moves back, but Derek doesn’t release his hold completely, leaving his hands on Stile’s hips.</p><p>“You’re seeing if I smell like him,” Stiles says.</p><p>“I wasn’t. That was general sniffing. Of my mate.” Derek’s mouth has become a tight little line, which is a dead giveaway that he’s lying. Stiles doesn’t need to hear his heart beat. </p><p>“Lie,” Stiles says. </p><p>Derek’s brow furrows and his hands drop. “I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Danny said he sent you home sick. I was smelling for sickness.”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“Alright.” Derek steps back and leans against his Camaro with his arms crossed feigning nonchalance. “Are you actually just going to keep this up now, or can we have this conversation.”</p><p>“We can. It’s easy. Just ask me. Don’t smell me, don’t assume things, just ask me.”</p><p>“Ask you? If you have something to tell me, then tell me. That’s what I always say. I don’t want to play a game with you, Stiles. This is what happens. You get upset about something and then instead of coming to me, you play a little game to rile me up.”</p><p>“If you think that I slept with Joseph--”</p><p>“I don’t fucking think that!” Derek roars. A lady on the sidewalk two shops down startles violently then jaywalks to avoid passing Stiles and Derek. Derek steps closer to Stiles but doesn’t touch him. He lowers his voice. “I know you wouldn’t do that. I don’t need to ask. Logically I knew that, as soon as I left. I get that is has to do with the tattoo, but it didn’t exactly paint a nice picture for me with the state of mind I was in.”  </p><p>Some of the anger leaves Stiles in a huff. “Fair enough. I’m sorry if I made you think that. Even for a moment. That wasn’t my intention,” Stiles says. </p><p>Derek lets out a breath and leans into Stiles again. “If you want to talk to me about something, whatever it is that had you running over to Joseph’s without talking to me first like we planned, then do that. I’m not going to play these games with you, Stiles. I’m not taking the bait.”</p><p>Maybe he does play games. Maybe he does make things worse, especially knowing how hard all of this been for Derek. But as Stiles tries to regroup, to organize his words, Derek is already moving away. </p><p>As Derek steps back, taking the heat of his body with him, Stiles feels cold all over. Numb in his fingertips and pins and needles in his toes and tips of his ears. The grey is back. He barely opens his mouth to say a weak, “Wait, Derek,” to Derek’s retreating form when he lists forward. If it wasn’t for the werewolf hearing, and werewolf reflexes, he’d surely be face first in the pavement. </p><p>Everything goes black. </p><p>When he opens his eyes, Stiles sees the worried faces of many around him. Derek, of course, and Danny, and a bunch of strangers. Danny hands Derek a glass of water and Derek gets Stiles sitting up high enough to drink it down. </p><p>Derek gets Stiles to his feet and walks him to the passenger side of the Camaro. Stiles sinks down into the seat, rests his head back, and closes his eyes. </p><p>“You still with me?” Derek asks, softly, after climbing in the other side. </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“What’s going on?”</p><p>“Physically? I don’t know. My body and or my magic might be reacting badly to the Rune tattoo,” Stiles says. </p><p>Derek nods. “Lets’ get Deaton to check it. And otherwise?”</p><p>Stiles blows out a breath. “Scott said there was a confrontation with some Omega’s last week, and that Allison was hurt during the fight. I was upset that you didn’t include me, if there was danger, and also that you didn’t tell me.”</p><p>“Thank you for telling me,” Derek says, but then looks confused. “Last week?” He starts the engine. “Ah,” he finally says and then let’s his head fall into his hands and rubs his face. When he reappears from behind his hands, Stiles isn’t sure if he looks more frustrated or amused. </p><p>“Ah, Scott. Did he actually use the word ‘confrontation’?” Amused. He looks amused. </p><p>“Um. No? I think maybe he said ‘run-in’.”</p><p>Derek sighs and throws the Camaro into drive. He pulls out fast and does a U-turn in the road to head back towards Deaton’s. He’s-- Stiles narrows his eyes and leans closer to check--chuckling. </p><p>“What’s so funny, big guy?” Stiles asks, looking at him sideways.  </p><p>“His ‘run-in’ was Scott tipping over his motorbike at an intersection at the edge of town and clipping another car. Allison was on behind him and sliced her leg open on the exhaust. The two Omega werewolves, in the car he hit, had recently left their pack and were headed through to see a pack in Southern Cali for safe refuge.”</p><p>Stiles looked at Derek in shock. “That was the ‘run-in’?”</p><p>Derek shrugged. “There was never any danger as far as I could tell. Never any real confrontation. The Omegas offered to give Allison and Scott a ride to the ER. Scott asked me if you were around, and I told him you were working. I almost forgot all about it, with all the more important talk about Runes and Erika texting her fingers off about being pregnant.”</p><p>“Erika is pregnant?” Stiles screeched. </p><p>“Yes. But you know nothing about it. She wants to tell the pack Saturday at the meeting,” Derek says.</p><p>“Fuck. That’s wonderful. And I am such an idiot. But so is Scott, to be fair.”</p><p>Derek glances at Stiles. “Just talk to me, Stiles. That’s all I ever ask.”</p><p>Deaton does not look pleased to see them. The waiting room is full. Yippy dogs, hissing cats and a rather pompous looking parrot. </p><p>“I’ll be with you gentlemen in a minute,” he says tersely.</p><p>Scott leads them back to an open exam room. </p><p>“What’s going on?” he asks, as Stiles jumps up to sit on the exam table, Derek steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. </p><p>“You and I are going to have words when this is done,” Stiles says. </p><p>“Me? What did I do?” Scott asks. </p><p>“To. Be. Continued,” Stiles says, poking Scott in the chest. </p><p>Scott rolls his eyes. “Damn dude your heartbeat is wild. It sounds like that Pomeranian out there.” </p><p>“It does not,” Stiles says, indignantly, glancing at Derek for support. Derek doesn’t agree or disagree and is suddenly very interested in a poster on the wall of a lizard’s digestive system. Traitor.</p><p>Scott pinches Stiles on his arm. Stiles punches him in the chest. “Dude,” Scott says. “You’re majorly dehydrated. I’m going to need to start an IV and run fluids before Deaton does the exam.”</p><p>Stiles tries to tuck his arms away from Scott’s reach. “Are you serious? I just need him to look at my Rune tattoo. Maybe prescribe some ointment.”</p><p>Stiles is sure he hears a noise, and it’s confirmed by Scott’s barely concealed smile as he looks over his shoulder at Derek, but when he looks Derek still has his back to him. </p><p>“Are you people laughing at me?” Stiles asks. </p><p>“No, man. But I think it might take more than an ointment. Let’s just get some fluids in you and I think you will feel a ton better.”</p><p>“I hate needles,” Stiles says under his breath even though he knows very well that both werewolves in the room can hear him. </p><p>“Right. So, a Rune tattoo was a stellar choice then,” Scott says. </p><p>“Shut up, Scottie. And you,” Stiles turns to point at Derek. “Get your wolfie-ass over here and hold my hand. Pain drain is a must and if you laugh any more at my expense, I will withhold all the sex.”</p><p>Scott’s whole face droops where he is opening a sterile kit. “Duuude. We’ve talked about how not cool it is talking about sex.”</p><p>Stiles rolls his eyes and snatches Derek’s hand as soon as it’s within snatching distance.</p><p>Thirty minutes later Stiles is actually fairly comfy lying on his side on the exam table. Scott has found a blanket to fold up as a makeshift pillow and Derek has his arms draped around him, as best he can, and is peppering soft kisses to Stiles’s face whenever Scott’s back is turned. </p><p>“Ugh. Dudes. I can hear you!” Scott complains. </p><p>Deaton finally enters, pulling on gloves. “What can I do for you, Mr. Stilinski?”</p><p>Stiles pulls up his shirt and scootches down his jeans to unveil his Rune tattoo. “I think somethings wrong with my Protection tattoo. I’m pretty sure the mage didn’t finish. We were . . . interrupted. But I’ve been feeling hella bad ever since.”</p><p>Stiles expects to feel Deaton’s gloved finger prodding the skin around the tattoo. When he doesn’t, he looks over at this shoulder to see Deaton standing stock still staring at the tattoo.<br/>
“Actually, you’re rune looks perfectly done,” Deaton says, finally.
</p><p>“Um. Check again? I pretty positive that the Rune should have a line up the middle,” Stiles says. </p><p>“Yes. For the Protection Rune,” Deaton says.</p><p>“Yes. Wait. What do you mean?” Stiles tries to twist further to get a better look, at the symbol on his lower back. </p><p>Deaton pulls a book from his shelf and begins to page through it with his back turned, but still addresses Stiles. “What symptoms have you been experiencing?”</p><p>“Dizziness mostly. My stomach was also a mess last night.”</p><p>“Pain or nausea?” Deaton asks.</p><p>“Pain. With an aversion to food. I wouldn’t really call it nausea.”</p><p>Derek tightens his grip on Stiles’s wrist. Probably because he doesn’t like to hear about Stiles in pain, and he doesn’t like not hearing about it if it happens either.</p><p>“The good news is, Mr. Stilinski, those are not symptoms of Rune tattoo rejection. Although I will be giving you an ointment to prevent basic infection.”</p><p>“Ha!” Stiles says to Scott, who rolls his eyes. “Ha!” Stiles says more softly to Derek, who smiles and nods, humoring him. </p><p>“However, they are symptoms of a different kind of Magical Rune being invoked. Deaton holds the book in front of Stiles so both he and Derek can look at it. Scott comes around and looks over their shoulder. The Rune, taking up the entire right sided page, is identical to the Protection Rune, with the absence of the vertical line running through. </p><p>“Fertility Rune,” Stiles reads, and then, again, finds himself speechless. </p><p>“That’s impossible,” Scott says, laughing, “Stiles is a boy.” </p><p>“Yes. That he is. He is a boy with a great amount of magic who has received a perfect Magical Rune tattoo from a seemingly experienced and powerful mage. This mage has done something remarkable here, even if not the Rune intended.”</p><p>Derek clears his throat. “Just to be clear. When you say ‘invoked’, are we are talking about the potential for pregnancy or--I mean, he just received the Rune yesterday. He can’t be--” He cuts himself off. Stile can hear the tremor in his voice. </p><p>Scott isn’t laughing anymore. The room is dead quiet for a few seconds.</p><p>Deaton says, “Well, Alpha Hale, the symptoms Mr. Stilinski is experiencing I think are his body preparing for fertility. Indicative of the change in his body physically and hormonally but, dizziness and food aversion could be aligned with that of pregnancy itself. It’s extremely early to be symptomatic for your average human pregnancy but, as you may recall, wolf gestation is only just over sixty days. Symptoms of pregnancy usually occur much more rapidly in werewolves, or humans carrying werewolves. If there was a presence of sperm in the body when Stiles became fertile--”</p><p>“But he’s a boy,” Scott says, again. This time much more seriously.</p><p>“Yes,” Deaton repeats patiently, “Stiles is a magical boy. Or, sorry, man. Which brings me to my final point. Which is, if Stiles is pregnant, this is a magical pregnancy. All normal rules are out the window. Could you retrieve the ultrasound cart from Exam A, Scott?”</p><p>Stiles registers the burning feeling on his thighs before realizing that he is, himself, causing it with his hands rubbing. Derek notices too. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Derek asks. </p><p>Stiles doesn’t answer. It’s all too much. Thoughts swirl relentlessly inside his brain. Glee, at the prospect of a family with Derek, but dampened heavily by the guilt that he imposed this on Derek instead of planning ahead and being ready. There’s also the shock, and maybe a wee bit of horror, of what his body and magic is capable of, and fear. Fear of the unknown, of the dangers that could befall him, or his baby. </p><p>This whole thing started with Stiles feeling like Derek was taking choices away from him, and here, Stiles had taken away a huge choice away from Derek and himself that would impact the entire trajectory of their lives. Unknowingly, but, still.</p><p>Not to mention, selfishly, there’s a thought that this will further make him vulnerable. Weak. Fragile in the eyes of the pack. Stiles turns his face into the crook of Derek’s neck.<br/>
Stiles hears Derek ask if he can have some time alone with him, and then hears Deaton and Scott shuffle out. </p><p>“Stiles? Baby, can you talk to me? Tell me how you are feeling? What you’re thinking?”</p><p>“I feel like,” Stiles pauses, trying to sort it all into words. Or to simplify because, as usual, his brain was dealing with the presence of too many words. “What I’m thinking is: So much of life happens to us. Things we can’t control. I thought that this Rune would provide me with more control. More choices. But because of the way I went about it, it seems to have possibly done the opposite. The most prevalent feeling right now is terror. I’m terrified,” Stiles whispers the last word.</p><p>“What are you most afraid of right now?” Derek asks.</p><p>“Besides the fact that my body can literally grow a womb out of nothing and come up with genetic material overnight because of some dude tattooing lines on my body?”</p><p>Derek laughs, the puffs of air tickling the side of Stiles’s neck. “Yes. Besides that.”</p><p>“That my position in the pack will be defined by this. That my role that had already been demoted to researcher has not been further demoted to childbearer.”</p><p>He whispers the last word.</p><p>Derek makes a short noise of distress at the back of his throat. He rubs Stiles’s back for a few seconds before responding. “What did your mother do for a living?” he asks.</p><p>Stiles lifts his head to meet Derek’s warm green eyes. “She was a teacher. Special Ed.”</p><p>“And in the eyes of you or your dad or anyone else in the family was she of lesser status that your dad because he was a cop?”</p><p>“Fuck no,” Stiles says.</p><p>“Did your mom’s skill at drawing make her a better or worse person compared to your dad because he was good at basketball?”</p><p>“Neither. It’s just different skill sets.”</p><p>“Right. And I don’t even have to ask you if your dad looked down on your mom because she could carry you,” Derek says. </p><p>“No. He always thought it was amazing. He always says that when he looks at her picture where she is pregnant with me. ‘Amazing. Amazing. Amazing’, he always says.”</p><p>“There is a hierarchy in a pack, but the roles are dynamic. I’m the leader, that’s my role, to figure out how to best use the talents of each pack member, and to keep them safe. But it doesn’t make me better or more important that anyone else. The pack wouldn’t work with missing pieces. Does that make sense?”</p><p>Stiles sniffs. “I think so.”</p><p>“No matter how this came to be, I will be over the fucking moon about having a baby with you, if that’s how you choose to proceed. But it doesn’t define you. Not in the pack, and not as a person. And I want you always to feel like you have choices. I want you to be safe, but I also want you to be happy. For instance, if you want to continue to take a more active roll in any confrontations, we can discuss how to do that safely. Without the risk of either of us losing any... appendages. </p><p>Stiles hums, and pulls Derek into a hug. “Let’s find out what’s going on and what the choices are, and then we can decide together, is that okay?”</p><p>“I’d like that,” Derek says. </p><p>Stiles kisses Derek on the mouth. Then once again as Scott is wheeling in the cart with the Ultrasound, but Scott doesn’t complain this time. </p><p>Deaton grabs the bottle of whatever the conducting gel is called and asks Stiles to roll on to his back. The wand against his tummy is cool, and the machine, once turned on, makes a lot of noise. What doesn’t make a lot of noise, or any noise, according to Deaton, is anything in Stiles’s womb. Though he does, in fact, have a womb. </p><p>No extra baby heartbeats. No sign of any bundles of embryo.  </p><p>Stiles feels the tears begin to leak out of his eyes, that he hadn’t even felt pool there. His face is wet and he’s finally able to speak. “Stop,” he says, pushing away Deaton’s arm. Scott hands Stiles a warm towel to clean off the gel and after a hasty wipe down, Stiles immediately climbs to his knees and turns into Derek’s arms. </p><p>“I want to have a baby with you,” Stiles says, wetly. “To review, apparently, I am not pregnant but currently, according to Dr. Deaton, fertile as fuck.” Stiles wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and Derek easily takes his weight off the exam table. “Do you want a baby with me, Derek?”</p><p>Derek blinks once, his warm green eyes never leaving Styles’s own whiskey-colored eyes. “Yes.”</p><p>“Then take me home and fuck me like--”</p><p>“America Man and his Winter Boyfriend?” Derek asks. </p><p>Stiles makes a needy noise in the back of his throat. “The fact that you’re so close on that one makes me extremely hot,” he says before pressing his lips against Derek’s. Stiles deepens the kiss and doesn’t break it even when he hears Scott’s pained, “Duuuuude,” behind him. </p><p>Stiles holds out his arm for Scott to remove the IV, but doesn’t stop kissing Derek. </p><p>He’s got a brand-new Fertility Rune tattoo and he’s going to use it tonight.</p>
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